Something in the human psyche loathes the indignity of being an organism at all: a convoluted alimentary tube driven by genes to fecundity, eating its way through the world until it too becomes food for literal worms. We have grander pretensions—to be as gods, pure, unbounded, with immortal eyes open upon an infinite horizon. The very concepts of spirit and spirituality deny the limiting animal context. The idealistic belief that what one truly is, despite all appearances, is spirit or soul, expresses a characteristic revulsion at being trapped in the temporal sheath of flesh.